


Heartbeats

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Fail sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, background threesome, career confusion, foley - Freeform, winterhawk - Freeform, wtf tag do steve and peggy and natasha get?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: The thing about bar hookups was that Clint was terrible at them. He was, actually terrible at people-ing in general, but dating in specific.He tended to fall hard and fast, and more often than not kind of accidentally. Tripping into love, Natasha had once describe it with a fond smirk and an eye roll. And she wasn’t wrong.





	Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Posting it without beta-reading - but I'm pretty sure Ro will swoop in and fix it later because she's amazing and way too good to me.
> 
> EDIT: NOW BETA READ because she did indeed swoop in and fix all the things!!!
> 
>  
> 
> \----  
> \----  
> \----

The thing about bar hookups was that Clint was terrible at them. He was actually terrible at people-ing in general, but dating in specific. 

 

He tended to fall hard and fast, and more often than not, kind of accidentally. Tripping into love, Natasha had once describe it, with a fond smirk and an eye roll. And she wasn’t wrong.

 

Clint had met his ex-wife while playing ultimate frisbee in the park. He had been running to catch Rumlow’s throw, hadn’t been looking at the ground, and had tripped over Bobbi where she was sitting on a blanket, having a picnic date. The asshat she had been on the date with had taken exception to a lapful of Clint, and well… somehow Bobbi hadn’t minded so much the way Clint looked with a split lip and a black eye.

 

Natasha, on good days, said that Clint’s ability to turn every second of his life into an absolute disaster was one of his best qualities. On bad days, like when Clint ended up in the hospital, she wondered how on earth he had made it to thirty-two with only hearing loss, and not a severed limb or worse. Clint also wondered how he’d managed that.

 

Most of the dates Clint had been on in his life had been set-ups - first by his older brother, who was an asshole and liked to set Clint up with people he had no hope of actually convincing to go on another date with him - and then by Natasha, who took Clint’s post-divorce single status as a personal insult. That, or she was convinced he would die alone, and desperately needed someone to make sure he didn’t drown himself in coffee or electrocute himself in the shower or something. 

 

So the bar thing… was not Clint’s preference, and definitely not his choice. But it was Natasha’s sort-of boyfriend’s birthday, and Clint had agreed to come out for drinks.

 

Which was fine. Clint was a disaster, yes, and managed to almost always say the wrong thing and to talk too much, but at a bar, that was at least more forgivable than other settings. 

 

The  _ problem _ was that Natasha’s sort-of boyfriend, Steve Rogers, had brought  _ his _ friends out drinking too. Which, sure, made sense. But Rogers’ best friend was, undoubtedly, the hottest guy Clint had ever laid eyes on. 

 

Bucky Barnes, possessor of a stupid name but goddamn gorgeous hair that was styled into some ridiculous pompadour thing that Clint was itching to mess up, preferably with his fingers buried in that hair while Bucky was on his knees giving Clint a blowjob and looking up at Clint with those icy-blue eyes in a way that, hopefully, wasn’t quite the murder glare he had been directing at Clint all night. Maybe Bucky - seriously, who the fuck willingly went by a name like that? - could read Clint’s mind, and could sense his very, very, very dirty thoughts every time Clint looked at the man’s stupidly full lips. 

 

But Clint hadn’t had any action that wasn’t his own hand in three months, and it wasn’t like he was going to  _ act _ on any of his thoughts. He was just going to hoard them away for alone time later.

 

In the  _ now _ , Bucky was sandwiched into the booth between Steve and Sam, another attractive friend of Steve’s, but one that Clint had already been shot down by two weeks ago when Clint hadn’t even been  _ trying _ to flirt. Bucky’s position put him directly across from Clint, who was bracketed by Natasha on one side and Peggy on the other. 

 

Clint’s glass was empty, and the pitcher of beer on the table was getting very low. 

 

Getting up to order another would be the perfect excuse for Clint to get out of the line of fire of Bucky’s seriously hot murder stare, and also to avoid the awkward turn the conversation had taken towards holiday plans. Clint, as per usual, had none, because he had no family left except for an asshole brother that he was avoiding this year and really didn’t want to be the loser who was invited to tag along to someone else’s Thanksgiving meal. Plus, screw Thanksgiving anyway. It was Imperialist bullshit. 

 

“‘Scuse me,” Clint nudged Peggy with his shoulder. “I’ma get the next round.”

 

“Don’t bother,” Bucky growled across the table, “I’ve got it.”

 

Now it was Clint’s turn to glare as the other man shoved Sam out of the booth and unfurled his long, lean, goddamned too fucking perfect body from the seat and stood up. 

 

Which, sure,  _ great _ view because Bucky’s  _ ass _ was like something Rodin had sculpted, but that was Clint’s escape plan, and he’d be damned if he was stuck here while Bucky got to flee.

 

“I’ll help you,” Clint decided.

 

Peggy shot him an amused look, but she let him out and then crowded in close to Natasha. Clint was pretty sure that put both women exactly where they wanted to be anyway, especially when Peggy draped an arm over Natasha’s shoulders and Natasha smirked at her.

 

And Steve, bless his heart, flushed and stammered as he looked at the two women.

 

Clint traded an eye roll with Sam, but then followed Bucky to the bar.

 

The place was decently busy, and there was a clump of happy, attractive girls flirting with the bartender, so Clint was pretty sure they weren’t going to get service all that soon.

 

Bucky’s glare in that direction made it clear he shared similar suspicions. But then he turned the glare on Clint.

 

“I said I had it,” Bucky said.

 

Clint shrugged.

 

“Sure. But I’m not going to sit through the whole ‘oh, why don’t you come over for Thanksgiving’ half-assed invitations that are about to go down around the table.”

 

Bucky blinked and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Huh,” was all he said. 

 

The bartender was definitely never coming their way. Clint was pretty sure the dude was doing magic tricks for the girls.

 

With a sigh, Clint looked back at Bucky.

 

God, he was just so pretty. The stubble on his jaw, the dimple on his chin. And fuck, a lock of his hair had fallen onto his forehead and Clint’s fingers  _ itched _ to brush it back.

 

Bucky was glaring at him again.

 

Considering that Clint was staring at him like a psychopath in love, that was totally fair.

 

“So, uh-”

 

“You-”

 

They started to talk at the same time, and then stopped as they spoke over each other.

 

Bucky scowled, and then raised his eyebrows expectantly.

 

“Oh. Uh. Weather?” Clint mumbled and- 

 

_ What the fuck? What in the actual fuck was wrong with him? _

 

Bucky’s lips twitched, momentarily stretching into a smirk, and jesus  _ fuck, _ the way his eyes crinkled wasn’t fair at all.

 

“Cold?” Bucky said.

 

Clint nodded in agreement. Because sure, yeah, it was cold outside. That was a thing that happened in November.

 

They stared at each other in awkward silence again, and Clint contemplated just hurdling the bar top and getting a new pitcher of beer for them himself.

 

“Steve said you did something with movies,” Bucky said eventually, the soft words startling Clint out of his mental calculations for how cool or stupid he might look trying to jump up.

 

“Oh. Yeah. I’m a foley artist.”

 

“You’re a  _ what _ ?” Bucky asked, looking somewhere between alarmed and… more alarmed.

 

“Foley artist.”

 

The repetition didn’t seem to be helping Bucky.

 

“I, uh, make sounds? For money?”

 

Clint should really just never be allowed to  _ talk _ again.

 

“What do you do?” he rushed to ask.

 

“I put in catheters.” Bucky smirked again. “For money. I’m a pediatric nurse.”

 

Clint flushed. Yeah, he deserved that. He-

 

“ _ Oh _ .” He realized why Bucky had been confused. “Foley - like a catheter?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Yeah, no, no. Totally different thing.”

 

“I figured.” Bucky was still smirking, and it made Clint feel warm all over. Warm and kind of sloshy. 

 

“Sound effects,” Clint tried to clarify, tried to actually string together words that made sense. “I have a studio - well, I have a room in my apartment, and I do sound effect reels for movies and TV.”

 

“Why are you called a Foley artist?”

 

“Jack Foley, the first really well-known sound effects guy.” Clint shrugged. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t do anything with catheters though. I mean… maybe, but… So you take care of kids?”

 

Bucky’s smirk grew, turning into a genuine, slightly lopsided smile.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. 

 

“That’s pretty cool. Any reason why kids?” Clint kinda wished he had had a nurse as hot as Bucky during any of his numerous visits to the ER this past year. Then again, maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t been even a little attracted to the poor, poor sweet souls who had had to patch him up.

 

“Steve,” Bucky shrugged. “He was sick a lot when he was younger, and his mom was a nurse. She kinda inspired me, and then…” Bucky shrugged again. “Just seemed like a natural fit. I have three younger sisters that I always had to take care of, plus that dumb punk.”

 

Clint nodded. That made sense, he supposed. It also made Bucky sound like some kind of perfect human. Way, way, way too perfect for Clint.

 

“Plus, after getting out of the Army, I kind of wanted to stay far the fuck away from taking care of grown-up assholes.”

 

If anything, that admission, and the brief murder glint in Bucky’s eyes, made him even  _ more _ perfect.

 

Clint was a heartbeat away from swooning.

 

“What about you?” Bucky asked. “Why’d you decide to make sounds for money?”

 

Clint licked his lips nervously.

 

“I, uh, didn’t suck at it?”

 

Bucky laughed, the sound rich and deep, and abruptly cut short when Bucky realized that Clint wasn’t joking.

 

“I’m sure there’s a lot of things you don’t suck at,” Bucky said.

 

Clint snorted in disagreement.

 

“Sure. You figure out what those lots of things are, you let me know, will you?”

 

Bucky’s smirk was gone, and now he was actually scowling at Clint.

 

“Bullshit. You’re good at more than just making sounds.”

 

“What makes you so sure?”

 

“You’re friends with Natasha. Natasha loves you - and Natasha hates useless and incompetent people.”

 

That was actually a very accurate assessment. But Clint had always known he was a special case for Natasha. 

 

“She told me how you two met,” Bucky said.

 

Clint flushed, and really wished he had something to drink. His throat felt dry, and he could use something to do with his fingers. And his mouth. Something that wasn’t Bucky-related or-

 

“You saved her life,” Bucky continued.

 

“I mean, it was just-”

 

“Clint, I’ve known Natasha almost as long as I’ve known Steve.  _ She _ doesn’t talk about you like you’re not good at anything other than making sounds.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes, feeling a bit irritated by Bucky and the fact that a total stranger was trying to - what, give him a pep talk? Clint knew who and what he was, and having gorgeous, perfect Bucky try to reassure him was only driving home the point that Clint was not in his league at all.

 

“Okay, fine,” Clint agreed. He held up one finger. “I’m good at saving Natasha, I’m good at making sounds,” he added a second finger. “I’m good at archery - which, if you’re wondering, is one-hundred percent not a marketable skill.” Another finger up. “I’m insanely good at flip cup, but that hasn’t been really handy since I stopped drinking just to get drunk.” Another finger, and Bucky’s scowl was slipping away again, one corner of his mouth fighting to turn upwards, and- and Clint really wanted him to smile again, or smirk.

 

So he said something stupid. 

 

“And I’m good at sex.”

 

Clint regretted the words for all of forty-five seconds. An excruciating forty-five seconds that involved Bucky staring at him, eyes going wide and then narrow, and Clint literally saw his life flash before his eyes. All of his previous blunders with stupidly attractive people. All of his failed relationships. All of his failures in general, and  _ fuck, _ why had he thought it was a good idea to give Rachel Smith a cupcake for Valentine’s Day in third grade when she clearly didn’t want anything to do with him, and had he really said he loved her?

 

But then Bucky smirked. It was a slow-growing, heart-melting expression that made Clint forget how to breathe.

 

“Prove it,” Bucky dared.

 

-o-

 

Bucky’s place was closer. Actually, the place Bucky shared with Steve was closer than Clint’s apartment. And since Steve, Sam, Peggy and Natasha hadn’t seemed to give a flying fuck when Bucky and Clint retrieved their jackets from the booth, mumbling some piss-poor excuse about walking Clint’s dog, Clint couldn’t be bothered to care at  _ all _ .

 

Especially not when Bucky kissed Clint like he wanted to devour him, lips hot and smooth and teeth nipping and tongue teasing, and  _ jesus fuck, _ why did humans need to walk around in clothes? They were so completely  _ in the way _ .

 

The door wasn’t even closed behind them and Bucky had one hand down the back of Clint’s jeans, squeezing his ass, and the other pushing Clint’s sweater up and dragging his nails over Clint’s abs.

 

Clint, desperate and so turned on he wasn’t sure his blood wasn’t boiling or something, had Bucky’s jeans already unzipped, and was happily, greedily sucking a mark onto Bucky’s neck while the other man alternated between moaning and cursing.

 

Bucky finally seemed to decide the open door mattered when Clint managed to shove his hand into Bucky’s briefs and wrap his fingers around the smooth, hard flesh of Bucky’s very thick cock. They both stumbled as Bucky kicked the door closed, and they were only saved from falling and possibly dying by Clint grabbing the edge of the nearest wall and clutching Bucky’s waist.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. “You’re so fucking hot.”

 

Clint almost dropped him, Bucky’s rough, earnest voice and his words taking him completely by surprise.

 

“I- What?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, righted himself, and fisted his left hand in the center of Clint’s sweater.

 

“I said, you’re so fucking hot.”

 

Clint opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky kissed him again, literally swallowing Clint’s urge to argue and- 

 

Well, Bucky seemed very determined to keep Clint from talking. And that was fine. It was completely fine.

 

Bucky used his hold on Clint’s sweater to pull him through the apartment, navigating around furniture until they were entering a dark room, and then Bucky shoved Clint backwards onto a bed.

 

Clint sprawled, breathless and staring as Bucky pulled off his own shirt and glared down at Clint.

 

Bucky’s bare torso was - wow. He was pale and lean and toned, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist that Clint wanted,  _ needed _ to wrap his legs around.

 

And then Bucky was shoving down his unzipped jeans and his briefs, letting his cock spring free, and Clint abruptly ceased thinking.

 

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” Clint moaned. 

 

Bucky’s  _ thighs _ were exactly how Clint wanted to die. The details weren’t important, but Clint had never seen such thick, gorgeous thigh muscles.

 

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and sat up, spreading his legs wide and then pulling Bucky’s naked body against his fully-clothed one.

 

Bucky smirked down at him while Clint smoothed his hands over Bucky’s thighs and his ass.

 

“Seriously, so perfect,” Clint repeated.

 

Bucky arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“You’re not naked enough,” Bucky said.

 

“Who cares, have you  _ seen _ your cock?”

 

Clint leaned his forehead against Bucky’s belly and licked his way down the sparse trail of hair from Bucky’s navel to the thicker hair of his groin, and then lower, to the base of Bucky’s cock.

 

Bucky drew in a sharp breath, and his whole body seemed to freeze.

 

Clint looked up at him, and Bucky was staring back, his fierce, overwhelming gaze snaring Clint.

 

He had to swallow, had to remind himself to  _ stop staring _ , and then nudged Bucky’s hips, maneuvering him away from the bed so that Clint had room to slide off and kneel in front of him.

 

Clint smirked up at him, maintaining eye contact as he stroked the length of Bucky’s cock, smoothing precome down the shaft, more than a little intimidated by the fact that he could barely circle his fingers around it. 

 

_ Please don’t fuck this up _ , Clint told himself as he leaned forward and ran his lips over Bucky’s cock.

 

Bucky made a strained sound in the back of his throat, and his right hand moved to Clint’s hair, barely tugging on the short strands. Clint took the hint and opened his mouth to lick his way back to the head of Bucky’s cock, and then tried to ease it into his mouth.

 

Bucky was so  _ thick, _ and Clint was pretty sure he had never encountered a cock this thick before, and Clint really hoped that Bucky would be up for a round two because Clint really, desperately needed to feel this monster sliding into his body and-

 

“Best birthday Steve’s ever had,” Bucky groaned, and Clint laughed, then choked, on Bucky’s cock.

 

Bucky grinned down at him, hair falling forward, eyes dark and face flushed.

 

And then- 

 

And then the front door of the apartment opened.

 

Someone was talking, someone else was laughing, and someone  _ else _ was moaning and-

 

Oh, fuck. Clint knew that laugh.

 

That was Natasha. And-

 

And the talking was definitely Peggy, voice low and amused, accent unmistakable and-

 

“-be a very good boy, can’t you, Steve?”

 

The moaning was Steve.

 

Oh,  _ fuck _ . 

 

Peggy and Natasha and Steve were in the apartment, and Peggy was telling Steve to be a good boy and Natasha was laughing and Steve was moaning  _ again, _ and-

 

And Clint still had his mouth around Bucky’s dick.

 

“I thought you were going to walk Lucky.”

 

It was unmistakably Natasha’s voice.

 

Clint swallowed, coughed, had an  _ aneurysm _ or something, but one minute he was choking on Bucky’s dick and the next minute his hands were slapped over Bucky’s bare ass, held in place by Bucky’s own hands, and Clint was gasping and coughing against Bucky’s thigh.

 

Natasha, Peggy, and a shirtless Steve with smears of dark red all over his face and chest were staring at them.

 

“Interesting method of dog walking,” Peggy murmured. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms, as if Bucky and Clint were there for her entertainment.

 

“Buck-” Steve started to say.

 

“Oh fuck, no, Steve, don’t say a fucking  _ word _ . I haven’t been laid in six months, and Clint is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Don’t you  _ dare _ ruin this for me.” Bucky sounded furious and desperate and-

 

Clint tried to make sense of what he had just said. Because it made  _ no _ sense.

 

“Just - go be a good boy and play your sex games with Peggy and Natasha, and leave me alone,” Bucky added.

 

Steve’s mouth snapped closed, and somehow, his entire chest turned red to match his face.

 

Peggy smirked, pushed herself away from the wall, and pressed her palm against Steve’s chest.

 

“Come along, darlings. Let’s leave the disasters to their own devices.”

 

She pushed Steve away from the door and out of their sight. Natasha lingered for another moment, her eyes narrowed as she looked between the two of them.

 

“If you break each other’s hearts, I’ll kill you both,” she warned, and then she too vanished.

 

Leaving Clint and Bucky alone.

 

“Oh god,” Clint groaned. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed in agreement. He released Clint’s hands, stalked across the room to the still-open door, and closed and locked it. 

 

He leaned back against it and scrubbed his hands over his face.

 

“Fuck. That was-”

 

“Not the worst thing Natasha has walked in on me doing,” Clint suggested.

 

Bucky looked over at him, gaze still a little wild. But then he laughed.

 

“Oh, fuck. Me either. She - yeah. This is definitely not the worst.”

 

Clint smiled in relief, and Bucky continued to stare at him.

 

“You’re still not naked enough.”

 

Clint arched an eyebrow.  _ He _ didn’t mind Bucky screwing his brains out while Steve was, presumably, having the time of his life in the room next to theirs, but he was a little surprised that Bucky didn’t seem to care.

 

Then again… Bucky  _ had _ said he hadn’t gotten laid in six months.

 

And that bullshit about Clint being the hottest guy he’d ever seen. Which Clint wasn’t going to think about too much.

 

“Why don’t you get over here and do something about it?” Clint suggested. 

 

Bucky’s smirk was predatory, and Clint- 

 

Clint maybe wasn’t so bad at this bar hookup thing after all.

 

-o-

**Author's Note:**

> \----  
> \----  
> \----  
> I don't even know HOW we got on the subject of Foley artists, but CB and I were talking about them and the word Foley has very, very different connotations in my field and her field so... here's a brief explanation for those. Plus fail sex.


End file.
